“Because I’ve been waiting to see you tied up since the day you broke into my bedchamber.”
Madelina surveyed the men. Seven to one. All large. All armed.
“They’ve been ordered to shoot at the least provocation,” Miss White advised. “Even if they hit me, and some of them would be happy for the chance, they have orders to see you dead.”
Madelina had tied the blindfold about her head. Someone pulled her from the carriage. They tested her knot and secured her hands. She’d been led through a doorway, able to feel the world closing in about her, through a building, and down stone steps. They’d shoved her into the cell and closed the door. Then the bolts slid home.
It hadn’t taken her long to free her hands. She still had rope and blindfold, and fond dreams of using both on Miss White’s neck. Only, Miss White never came. Just the food, delivered by two ruffians at a time, in rotation, without need to open the door. They’d fed her three times now. She assumed that meant she’d been missing for three days.
Light filtered around the edges of Madelina’s eyelids. She blinked them open. How long had she dozed? She hadn’t finished the series of stretches and calisthenics she completed after each feeding, to keep her body strong enough to escape. It seemed too soon for more food, but time had little meaning in the cell.
“Madelina, dear,” Miss White’s voice called. “Do come to the window. I want to show you my dress.”
Her dress? The woman was mad. Madelina stretched her cramped limbs but didn’t obey.
A confection of pastel fluff, color indeterminant in the yellow torchlight, appeared at the opening under the door. Miss White’s face, shadowed, filled the little window, though she remained a hand’s width away. “Come now. Don’t you want to see what I’m wearing to my wedding?”
Madelina closed her eyes against the pain of Jasper’s capitulations, surprised by how much his betrayal hurt. He would marry Miss White, the woman he refused to believe was Madam Dequenne. The woman he’d run to with Madelina’s secret.
What did Jasper think now? If Miss White had delivered her ultimatum, he must know she’d taken Madelina. With that evidence before him, how could he fail to realize she was Madam Dequenne?
“Come now,” Miss White cajoled. “I want your honest opinion.” She squinted into the darkness of the cell.
Madelina slid silently across the floor, a vindictive smile curling her lips. She shot to her feet in a smooth motion. Her face filled the window.
Miss White let out a squeak and jumped back.
Darkness swarmed at the edges of Madelina’s vision. She braced her hands on the stout oak door to keep from swaying but didn’t allow her smirk to falter.
“That was mean,” Miss White snapped, false kindness gone from her voice.
Madelina kept her eyes cold as she took in Miss White’s gown, a pale, lovely confection suitable for a miss just coming out. Seeing those lush curves straining against such virginal attire disgusted her, and she knew her face betrayed her feelings. When would she learn to control her impulses?
“I see you do like my dress,” Miss White said with a smirk of her own. “I knew you’d appreciate it. I want Jasper to have a perfect, blushing bride. What all men dream of. A demure, delicate flower of a girl who, come her wedding night, is a hellion in bed.”
“Hellion is accurate,” Madelina said.
Miss White let out a sigh. “Not that I’ll be able to maintain delicate and demure for long. Women like you are so very boring. I guess that’s why you had to dress up like a man and run about in the streets. Not that you were good at it.”
The bars were close together, but if Miss White pressed her face to them, Madelina might be able to strangle her. That long white neck would be easy to encircle. Easy to snap.
Miss White stood out of reach, though, her expression touched with anticipation. Even though it might draw the other woman near, Madelina refused to engage with Miss White’s attempt to roil her.
Finally, Miss White let out a sigh. “Fine, don’t play with me. I would have thought you desperate for something to do by now, but maybe not much goes on in that pretty little head of yours. Jasper would have bored of you within hours.” Pivoting, Miss White began to pace. “I didn’t come simply to show you my dress, although the look on your face was delightful. For some reason, my sweet Jasper doesn’t trust me. He’s asking for proof you live.” Miss White grimaced. “We agreed on a note. If it were only Jasper, I would write it myself, but he’ll undoubtedly show it to your aunt, and she’ll recognize a forgery.”
Miss White halted before the door again, still out of reach. “Now, don’t tell me you won’t write anything for me.”
Madelina pretended to yawn.
Miss White rolled her eyes. “The men will bring you writing supplies. Paper and charcoal. I don’t trust you with an inkwell and pen. They’re ordered not to feed you again until you give them a note.” She turned up her lips in a sunny smile. “Think on it, dear. I imagine you want to keep your strength up so you can try to kill me. You can’t do that without eating, and it’s just one little note to ease Jasper and Aubrey’s minds.” Miss White made an airy gesture. “Now, I must go. I need to take off this dress. I don’t want to risk spoiling it before Jasper has the chance to tear it off me.”
She turned on her heels and sauntered away. The muslin gown swished against the sway of her hips. Madelina counted her retreating footfalls on stone; tried counting the number of treads on the stairs, though she’d no idea if the information could help her. A door opened and closed above. A room stood at the top. In it, based on the rhythm and pitch of the unintelligible hum she could often make out, her guards played games of chance. Likely, at least five of them, if not more.
Paper and charcoal? She stepped away from the door, lips pursed. She could think of little to accomplish with paper and charcoal. Now, a candle….
She forced her body through her regiment, pausing at every sound, waiting for her guards. Sooner than she hoped, footsteps thudded without. Something slid under the door. Paper.
Madelina ignored the offering and jumped to the window. “Wait.”
